Today I woke up bright at 6. I really am an early bird, so the fact that post-op I’ve been conked out for all the world through dawn hasn’t been a ha-ha funny sensation. I like being wired and awake while others are sleepily toasting in their covers.
Even better, I woke feeling more like me than throughout these past couple of weeks. So I decided to up it and go for a wander round The Meadow to test out my stamina.
(And I wore my running shoes, for good measure, because I’m a big saddo. It was lovely.)
I live right in the middle of town, yet The Meadow is just a short walk – a bounding 3-mile round, tops. Straight out the door the air was hot and heavy, like the armpit of a glorious and sweaty chanteuse. The sea devils made their faint calls overhead (squawking loud and proud since 4am, baby). All around, swathes of faint, eye-level green-yellow meadow grass made me feel like a Carpet Person.
A mile in, and walking a steady pace, sweat stuck my top to my back. My forehead grew misty; physiology at its finest! I made the loop, made my way back through a dozing town, and made up some toast and honey back at the ranch. Feeling refreshed – yes! – and not like I was going to keel over.
Sundays can be odd, can’t they? Days of Funk. And not the fun kind. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I find them unbearable. I feel it impossible to start, unable to concentrate or commit to anything; just waiting for Life #1 week #xyz to get back into gear.
But not today. Today I will go and watch the men’s Wimbledon final, ignore my phone, and look forward to seeing more of my sleepy town in the working week’s early hours in the days a-coming.